30. Ben
CHAPTER THIRTY
ben
TORTURE
The sun is barely up, and my lungs already feel like they’re on fire. Fucking training camp. But I welcome the pain. It distracts me from how much I miss Katy. It keeps me from thinking about her every second.
“Faster,” Coach shouts from the sideline.
I nod and start the drill again. And again. By the tenth rep my legs are shaking, but I keep going. Tyler tosses me a look when we’re finally done.
“Coach wants to kill us,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I say.
The truth is, I love the challenge. I feel capable here. This is what I’m good at. The only thing I’m good at.
The whistle blows, and a couple of the guys jog over while we reset for the next set.
“Hey, Davis,” one of them says, bumping my shoulder. “How was your summer, man? Heard you got a girl.” He gives an exaggerated wink.
Another guy snaps his fingers.
“Oh yeah, the Montgomery girl, right?”
Someone else whistles.
“Yeah.” He grins. “She’s hot.”
My grip tightens on the ball before I can stop it.
Tyler sighs like a disappointed parent.
“Congratulations, assholes.” He looks between them, unimpressed. “You’ve all managed to say the worst possible thing.”
The guys glance between us, and I watch as realization slowly dawns on them.
“Also,” Tyler adds, “shut up before he throws the ball through your face.”
Right on cue, Coach’s whistle cuts through the air.
“Ladies,” he yells from the sideline. “If we’re done gossiping, maybe we can try playing football.”
The guys scatter back to their spots. I take the snap and fire the next pass harder than I need to. Like that’ll fix anything.
It lands clean.
The guys all cheer.
But I don’t.
Because no matter how many reps I run, how many throws I make, how busy I keep myself, there’s still a part of me standing outside her door. Waiting.
Coach blows the whistle again. “Water!”
The guys jog toward the sideline, helmets coming off, everyone grabbing bottles. I sit on the bench and lean forward, forearms on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Sweat drips off the end of my nose and hits the turf.
Tyler drops onto the bench beside me and studies me for a second. “You good?”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure.” His voice is dry. “You look fantastic.”
I huff out a breath that might almost be a laugh.
He takes a long drink from his bottle. “Rebecca says Katy’s been going out again.” He says it like it’s nothing.
My head snaps toward him too fast. Tyler notices immediately, and the asshole starts laughing. “Whoa.” He grins. “Relax.”
I glare at him.
“I meant she’s leaving the house,” he clarifies. “Hanging out with Ella and Rebecca. That’s it.”
I swallow, forcing my shoulders to loosen. “That’s good,” I say.
Tyler shakes his head.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “You went straight to jealous psycho in half a second.” He nudges my shoulder, then watches the field for a moment. “She also says she misses you.”
“That doesn’t help,” I mutter.
Tyler shrugs. “Maybe not.” He nudges my shoulder again. “But it’s not nothing either.”
I stare out at the field. Some players are running routes. Coach is yelling at someone about footwork. It’s the same routine I’ve done a thousand times.
But none of it quiets the part of my brain replaying the same moment over and over.
The empty street. The movement in her window. The way I thought, just for a second, that she’d come running out.
I check my phone again out of habit.
No new messages.
The wallpaper is still a picture of her, hands resting on her pregnant belly. I haven’t had the heart to change it. Not sure what I’d replace it with.
Tyler notices.
“Man,” he says gently, “you gotta stop doing that.”
“I know.”
“You still gonna wait for her?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”
He nods once like he expected that. “You’re a better man than me.” He huffs a quiet laugh. “I love Rebecca, but if she pulled that on me, I’d already be on a beach somewhere pretending I never met her.”
I lift an eyebrow. This guy’s full of shit. He’s completely whipped.
Coach blows the whistle again. “Break’s over!”
Tyler jogs back toward the field, but I sit there for one second longer. Then I get up, grab the ball, and run the next drill. If I stop moving, I’ll start thinking about her again.
And I’m not sure I could stay away.
By the time I get back to my apartment, my body is exhausted, but my brain isn’t. I toss my keys onto the counter and stand there for a second, staring into the silence.
I wish I could call Katy. I would tell her about practice and complain about Coach trying to kill us. We would talk about what fruit the baby was this week. It must be a watermelon by now.
Instead, I just stand there like an idiot.
My eyes drift involuntarily toward the second bedroom.
The nursery.
I don’t know why I walk in there. The crib box is still sitting in the corner, the dresser half assembled.
I stare at the room for a minute, then grab the screwdriver, and get to work.
An hour later, I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor tightening the final screw on the dresser. The room is quiet except for the occasional sound of traffic outside.
And suddenly it hits me. I don’t know if this baby is mine, I don’t know if Katy wants me, I don’t know if any of this furniture will ever get used. This whole room might end up being for nothing. The thought should make me stop.
Instead, I keep building. If there’s even a chance, I want to be ready.
I lean back against the wall and look around. At the perfectly assembled furniture, at the football-themed wall art hanging on the light blue walls, at the little lamp shaped like a football sitting on the nightstand.
I realize it’s a future I might not get. What if I finish every piece of this furniture, and the test comes back and none of it was ever mine to build?
My throat tightens, but I reach for the next piece anyway.
Maybe that’s the thing about me. I’ve never been the smartest guy in the room. Not compared to Katy or to Logan.
Hell, not compared to most people.
But when this baby gets here? He’ll never spend a second wondering if I love him, whether he’s biologically mine or not.
I know how to do that.
I know how to show up.
I know how to work hard and not give up.
Maybe I won’t be the dad who helps with math homework or essays. But I’d bet my entire future I’ll be the one who loves them the hardest.
Some stubborn part of me still believes she’ll come back, so I keep getting ready.
Because giving up on them has never really been an option.